


Let Me Know

by flightspath



Series: California [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Exhibitionism, Face-Fucking, Finger Sucking, M/M, Neighbors, One Shot, Oral Fixation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Summer, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:09:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24283372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightspath/pseuds/flightspath
Summary: “I thought about feeling you inside me,” he says, once his eyes are tired and the whole block is dark. “I thought about you coming into my house while I sleep, and finding me, and-- I thought about you holding me down.”He looks at the dark windows of Derek’s house. “Let me know,” he says, their little refrain.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: California [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1981603
Comments: 23
Kudos: 413





	Let Me Know

**Author's Note:**

> I'm almost done with the last chapter of another work (Liquid), so obviously this needed urgently to be born.

It’s hot, and that turns him on. The first unseasonably warm day of spring, a taste of late August in May, and Stiles is aroused. 

He touches himself in the house, lazily, fantasizes and makes noise with the windows open. He’s sweating, even with the fan on, and somehow that-- does it for him. He sees neighbors walking by in shorts and halters, and the air smells like grass and heat, and Stiles feels his body uncoiling in a way that it never does in the cold.

He wants to rub and fuck; he wants to put his teeth on the tense surface of someone’s skin. He masturbates off and on all day, turned on and wound up and primal, pressing himself into the smell of his own deodorant on his sheets. Old texts and pictures; the promise of summer ripe and plump as the curve of a body. He humps into his hand, rubs his fat cock raw.

He passes out in the afternoon, dozes in a feverish sweat until the sun goes down. And then he’s up again, moving through a dark house, looking out his windows and across the street. 

Later, it feels like a premonition: that hot night looking out the window, stripping off his clothes and gripping his tender cock. Like he knew in advance what was coming and went crazy with it. 

\-----

That’s the week Derek moves in.

Stiles scrambles across the street with a six-pack and nosy intentions; wipes his brow and skids up to the front steps just as a man steps out of the front door. There’s a big “SOLD” sign on the strip of brown lawn out front.

“Derek,” the guy says, stepping down from the porch to shake Stiles’ hand. His skin’s warm and dry in the evening heat, and Stiles loves his fingers instantly. “Some heat wave, huh?”

They drink beers and make pleasantries in the fading light until Derek’s gaze slips down Stiles’ body, tense and blatant. He pauses and looks Stiles in the eye before he says, “It’s my family’s house, not mine, so I’m just here for the summer. But you could give me your number, if you like.” 

\-----

The next night, Derek leans against the column of his porch and lets Stiles watch him do it. He telegraphs his movements, puts the phone up to his ear and keeps his eyes trained on the upstairs window of Stiles’ house. 

A demonstration, Stiles thinks. _This is how you do it._

Stiles’ phone rings and lights up his face in the darkness, bright enough that he knows Derek can see. He stares right back at Derek’s face, lets his phone ring and ring as he rubs his cock through his clothes. The air upstairs is sweltering.

Derek leaves a voicemail in a low, easy voice. “You seem like you might want some company,” he says. “So, let me know.”

\-----

“I want-- I wanted you to--” Stiles pants and braces himself against the wall of his living room, hands up and legs spread. Derek’s body feels huge behind him, hands wrapping around his hips, pulling his ass back, containing him. It makes Stiles feel unsteady and wild. He wants to be held down; he wants to break free. He writhes like a live wire and tries to turn around.

“What?” Derek prompts easily, wrestling Stiles’ arms back into place. His thigh is shoving between Stiles’ legs. “What do you--”

“--kiss me, I want-- please--”

It makes Derek laugh, kindly. He pulls Stiles’ arms down, then, and pins them behind his back like he’s about to get cuffed. Stiles’ cheek presses against the wall; Derek puts his mouth next to his ear and murmurs, “Calm down, then, so I can touch you.”

“I want, I want…”

“Stiles, breathe,” Derek starts, softly. “ _Stiles_.” His voice turns loud and abrupt; he punctuates it with a shake of Stiles’ arms. “Stop. Now.”

Stiles stills, then, finally, lets his eyes close as he presses his forehead against the wall. Outside a summer rain starts, roaring through the humidity. The air is wet and heavy.

“Open your mouth,” Derek says, still stern. Stiles does. “There you go, slow, slow,” he urges. He slips his index and middle finger between Stiles’ lips. “Earn it, baby,” he says. His voice a soft murmur again: “Take it slow.” 

Thunder rumbles in the distance, louder than Derek’s voice in his ear. “Earn it,” he repeats, pressing his fingers against Stiles’ tongue, fucking his mouth. “Go slow.” 

\-----

Stiles calls him late at night, too. From his own porch, after Derek’s gone inside. He waits for a long time.

“I thought about feeling you inside me,” he says, once his eyes are tired and the whole block is dark. “I thought about you coming into my house while I sleep, and finding me, and-- I thought about you holding me down.”

He looks at the dark windows of Derek’s house. “Let me know,” he says, their little refrain.

\-----

Stiles wakes up hours later to the feeling of body weight on his mattress. He’s on his stomach; he feels Derek’s knees on either side of his thighs. He feels a finger trailing up and down his spine.

“I want to be inside you.” Derek whispers above him like he’s talking to the room, or maybe just himself. “You have to let me, baby, please.”

He leans down over Stiles and curls a hand around his cheek, puts his fingers between Stiles’ lips like before. Stiles squeezes his eyes closed and sucks on them as he rubs against the mattress, feeling Derek’s breath on his cheek. He sucks hard. “Take me in your mouth, Stiles,” Derek whispers needlessly in his ear. “Take it, take it.”

\-----

And then again, in Derek’s house this time, on the dark wood floors as he holds Stiles’ head: “Take it, take it,” he moans.

Stiles kneels with his hands behind his back and Derek stands, thrusting, pushing his cock as far into Stiles’ sloppy mouth as it will go. 

\-----

There are wildfires for the whole month of August, turning the sky strange and opaque. Stiles’ car breaks down and Derek drives him wherever he wants to go, waiting by the curb at the grocery store like a chauffeur in sunglasses. They stop talking at night and start fucking during the day, sweat dripping from their bodies in the flat orange light.

“Just, come here,” Derek says. “Please, baby, please come here, let me--” he pulls Stiles onto his lap, hard, and the friction makes Stiles moan out loud as he presses himself down, feels the thick ridge of Derek’s cock through his pants. He rides Derek’s erection, rubbing and grinding while Derek grips his waist. 

“I want you so bad, Stiles, I want to fill you up, do you feel that?” He’s grabbing Stiles’ ass and moving his body, rocking him downward onto his cock. “Can you feel my cock? I want to be inside you, Stiles, fuck.”

Derek had asked if he liked this, if it was OK to talk like this. Months ago, before the world was on fire:

“Let me know,” he’d offered, but Stiles had just cut him off right there and then. He needed it, now, too. Silence made him desperate.

Now the air is choking and the afternoon is bright and mean as they fall back on the bed, and Derek talks.

“Take-- take me in, relax, let me fuck you,” Derek murmurs into his neck. “Let me, let me--” and then he’s inside, all the way in, fucking Stiles with hot, firm thrusts. They moan together at first and then it breaks off into clipped noises, Derek’s low whisper, “Good, good, that’s good, let me fuck you.” Not like he’s begging, but like he-- needs to hear it himself say it.

“Let me fill you up, let me fuck you,” he says, over and over, even as Stiles lets him, stays limp and open and just lets himself feel full. He lets his body move with Derek’s momentum, holds onto Derek’s arms and neck and whatever else he can grasp while Derek fucks him into the mattress, thrusts into his body endlessly, holds him and devours him and moans into him until Stiles can’t remember how to be anything but here, here, here. 

“Shh, let me, let me,” Derek says over and over, like he’s soothing Stiles. “Take me in, let me fuck you.”

“Yes--yes. Please, do it.” Stiles can only cling to Derek and press his open mouth into Derek’s temple. “Yes, yes, please.”

\-----

Later, the rain comes and stays for weeks. One morning, Stiles wakes up in Derek’s bed and says, “Take me with you?”

“Please,” says Derek. “I will.”


End file.
